


Run Where You'll Be Safe

by oneprotagonistshort



Series: Wrapped Up [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneprotagonistshort/pseuds/oneprotagonistshort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been twenty-three days since Blaine had kissed him and promptly forgotten (allegedly) that it had ever happened. Sam wasn’t sure how he became the go-to guy for breakup-related meltdowns, but at least he figured it couldn’t get much worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Where You'll Be Safe

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know how this happened. Sorry in advance? A little longer this time and a little angstier too, whoops. Fret not, I have a happy ending planned. Santana's involved now, which is fun for me because I love when she and Sam are friends, and Kurt also makes a small appearance.

It had been a few weeks since... the incident. Exactly twenty-one days if you were counting, which Sam definitely wasn’t. He wasn’t counting because he wasn’t thinking about it because nothing had happened. This was especially true in the light of Kurt now being back in the house for Thanksgiving. It was easier to just pretend he and Blaine had gotten smashed and passed out with their faces _really close_ than it was to stop himself from blurting out, “I’M SORRY I KISSED YOUR BOYFRIEND” every time Kurt looked at him funny. Sam wasn’t even sure he _had_ kissed Kurt’s boyfriend. He’d kissed Blaine, yeah, but no one seemed to know if they were actually together or not. Including Kurt, but Sam wasn’t about to ask.

Thanksgiving with a different family was hectic enough without accidentally letting slip to your sort-of crush’s maybe-ex-boyfriend that you’d gotten wasted with the guy who cheated on him and then made out a little. Especially if your sort-of crush’s maybe-ex-boyfriend had always kind of done a weird all-knowing smile and nod thing whenever you talked about girls. It made Sam’s head hurt to think about it, so he kept his mouth shut, adamantly not mentioning Blaine or Halloween or caramel vodka, the thought of which had made him a little nauseous ever since.

Sam had considered just going home for Thanksgiving and avoiding it altogether, but his parents were taking Stevie and Stacey to Nashville now that they could reasonably afford it. The drive for them was long enough from Kentucky, and for Sam to go too he’d either have to skip school on Wednesday to meet up with them before they left or drive all afternoon just to get to Tennessee in the middle of the night, and then he’d have to do the whole trip back on Sunday too. Carole had assured both Sam and his mom that he was more than welcome, Burt had made him TiVo the parade so they could watch it when he and Kurt got back from the airport, and Sam had felt kind of relieved that he wouldn’t be missing out on seeing his friends that were home from college because he was too busy driving fourteen hours in four days.

And while it was good to see everyone, it was a little weird, too. Blaine and Kurt weren’t the only couple in the group who had fallen out this year, so plans were shifted based on who could and could not be left alone in a room together. Sam didn’t like it. If he could put up with Quinn after she bailed on him for Finn, almost giving him mono in the process, Mike and Tina could be in the same building. He and Santana were still friends even, but Sam wasn’t sure that counted as an actual relationship in light of relatively recent developments that had made all of her “lady lips” comments take on a different meaning.

Glee kids were dramatic by nature, but they should be able to fake it well enough to at least be nice for a few days.

Unfortunately no one seemed to want to put forward the effort, so Sam spent Wednesday afternoon driving across town, starting with meeting Mike at the bus station when he got in from Chicago early and needed a ride to surprise his parents, the two of them making plans for the weekend once the holiday was over. He stopped to grab dinner with Santana, who didn’t have Wednesday classes and had been in Lima since the previous night. She threw breadsticks at his head every time he did an impression and smiled when he told her how happy he was to see her. On their way out he grabbed one of the giant slices of chocolate cake to go, and brought it over to Puck’s, where the two of them played video games until Sam had to head home.

He tried not to think about what Blaine was doing, because the more he thought about it the more he realized that while Blaine was friends with a lot of the people coming home, he wasn’t really a priority for any of them when time was such a factor and in four days everyone would be gone again. It might have been different if things between Blaine and Finn hadn’t been awkward after they got back from New York, but they were weird enough around each other (like they wanted to be friends but Finn couldn’t let himself to do it and Blaine couldn’t bring himself to ask) that none of the other guys were willing to navigate the intricacies of planning a bros night around their drama. Sam told himself he’d probably with Tina or maybe even Brit, but it didn’t seem likely even as he tried to convince himself that it was. He swore out loud in his empty car when he realized that larger-than-life Blaine Anderson might manage to fall through the cracks this weekend, at least with the people who mattered. He resolved to call him when he got home, they could do something on Friday while Finn was in a food coma and Kurt was elbowing middle-aged women in the face for Black Friday deals and he wouldn’t have to explain to them where he was going.

To Blaine’s credit, he was doing a remarkably good job of not harassing Sam for details about Kurt’s visit. Well, at least he was _now_ , about four days ago Sam had had enough and threatened to key his car if he didn’t stop. Which, in retrospect, might have been a little harsh but for the past month Sam had somehow been the go-to guy for breakup-related meltdowns. First from Blaine, then from Brittany, and even once from Artie who’d said something to offend Sugar’s dog and feared they were over forever. It was a lot to juggle.

After he’d thrown his stuff down in his room and dug out his phone, he dialed Blaine’s number and waited as it rang. He ended up leaving a voicemail asking Blaine to call him the next night if he wanted to do something on Friday, and feeling marginally better about himself for having prevented Blaine from spending the whole break alone, he went to bed.

\---

Sam hadn’t bothered setting an alarm, knowing that he’d be watching the parade later with everyone and not caring about missing anything else while he slept in a little. He didn’t wake up until around eleven the next morning, when the noise of Burt returning from the airport with Kurt and two suitcases in tow prompted him to get out of bed. He ventured down the stairs a little cautiously, not totally sure what to do, but Kurt smiled at him and they both went in for the awkward not-quite-brothers but not-quite-bros hug that had become a thing when Sam had moved in and started spending a lot more time around the Hummels.

By the time Kurt was mostly unpacked (“No, it can’t wait, think of the wrinkles, dad. Honestly.”) and everyone had settled around the TV to watch the parade, it was mid-afternoon and there was food in the oven and the whole house was starting to smell amazing. By the time dinner was over, Sam was pretty pleased with how well the day had gone. Sam had managed to not say anything stupid, Kurt had managed to look at least mostly not emotionally devastated, and Finn had managed to not choke to death on any of the five helpings of potatoes he’d more or less inhaled. Things could have gone a lot worse.

Of course Sam’s luck never lasted that long. He and Finn and Burt had sat down with some pie to catch the day’s football highlights, which of course meant Burt was out cold as soon as his fork hit an empty plate. Finn was weirdly and kind of angrily focused on his phone, typing as fast as he could with his giant fingers on the tiny keyboard, so Sam decided to be a gentleman and bring the plates to the kitchen where Kurt had insisted on helping with the dishes.

Except he stopped in the doorway when he heard what Kurt and Carole were talking about over the sink, backs to him. “How’re you holding up? And don’t tell me you’re fine, that may convince your father to leave you alone but I know better and I’m way better than him at being persistent.”

Kurt sighed and Sam could see his shoulders drop a little. “I don’t know,” Kurt said, sounding more defeated than Sam had ever heard him. “I can forgive a lot but this is... different. I don’t know if I can. It’s harder somehow, I-”

Sam shifted and a fork clinked against a plate and he only had a split second to make himself look like he hadn’t been standing there listening. It seemed to work, apparently helped along by what Santana had once called his “default dumb” expression. “Someone might want to take the phone away from Finn,” he joked. “Unless you want it thrown through your TV.”

Carole, seeming to know what Sam was talking about more than Sam did, smiled and said, “Oh dear, I might have to go intervene. Rachel’s in town, you know how it is,” before walking into the living room and leaving Sam alone with Kurt.

“It’s good to see you, dude,” said Sam, awkwardly handing Kurt the plates, and Kurt smiled a little as he loaded them into the sink.

“Thanks,” he said after a second, and he looked like he was about to say something else when Sam’s pocket started vibrating. “You should get that, your parents probably want to say happy Thanksgiving.”

Sam waved a little as he walked out of the kitchen, grabbing his phone in the process and heading for the stairs. The caller ID said it was Blaine, so he didn’t bother with initial politeness. “What’s up, man?” he asked, reaching the top of the stairs.

“Hey, so I got your message,” came Blaine’s voice through the phone. “I know you wanted to go to the movies, but the mall is gonna be crazy. I do have The Avengers Blu-ray though, so if you want to come over we can-”

“Stop right there,” Sam cut him off, swinging his bedroom door shut behind him. “You had me at Avengers.” He could hear the smile in Blaine’s voice as they set up a time, and went to bed feeling pretty good about life.

\---

Sam drove over to Blaine’s the next afternoon, running into Chipotle to grab some burritos on the way. Nothing said “ _I appreciate your existence as a human being and also as someone I unexpectedly really like to make out with_ ” quite like a barbacoa burrito with an extra order of chips, not that Sam would ever be saying anything even remotely like that. The food would have to do it for him.

He pulled up to Blaine’s house, noting that once again that all the Andersons but Blaine seemed to be missing. He rang the doorbell, paper bags in hand, and was a little relieved that Blaine was sober enough to answer the door himself this time. He held up the bags in greeting. “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten lunch, but I didn’t so I figured if you didn’t want yours I would probably eat it anyway.”

Blaine laughed, snatched one of the bags out of Sam’s hand, and moved to let him into the house. “This might just be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” he said, pointing Sam to the living room before continuing on to the kitchen to grab plates. When he returned, Sam had settled on the couch and was eyeing the biggest TV he’d ever seen with equal parts awe and caution. He’d been in Blaine’s house before, but never really in the living room, and he was stunned that a TV that big even existed while he was simultaneously a little afraid of what would happen if it fell on him.

“Nice, right?” Blaine asked as he set the plates down on the table in front of the couch and started opening bags. “One of the spoils of last year’s Black Friday. My mom’s a little... zealous when it comes to Best Buy and stalks their sales. She makes my dad go with her to push everyone else out of her way and get the stuff on higher shelves that she can’t reach.”

Sam laughed, popping a chip in his mouth before saying, “I was wondering why no one was around. Where’s Cooper?” Sam had liked Cooper. He’d called Sam’s impressions “pure, undiluted talent” and asked him to teach him the Matthew McConaughey one because “that bastard gets every role that requires shirtlessness, and I need to break into that genre.”

Blaine smiled and pulled out his phone, tapping the screen and apparently looking for something. “Cooper’s camping,” he said, clearly amused. “He got a role as a hiker who gets murdered on CSI so he bought a tent and is growing a beard to prepare for it.” Blaine found what he was looking for and held up his phone, a picture of Cooper with a truly ridiculous beard and a huge smile filling the screen. “He’s live tweeting the whole experience and I’m pretty sure his tent is set up in a park, but he swears he’s roughing it and will come out of it a better man.”

Sam laughed again, almost choking on his food, because yeah that definitely sounded like Cooper. He took a bite out of his burrito and groaned, “Oh my god this is so good, I’m pretty sure if I’d tried to eat any more turkey after yesterday I would have puked.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow at him, swallowing a massive bite of his own burrito before saying, “You say that, but we both know that by midnight tonight you’ll be making yourself a sandwich with the leftovers.” He gave Sam a pointed look that seemed to say “ _don’t even pretend I don’t know you better than that_ ” and got up to start the movie.

The Hummels had a pretty good TV but Sam wasn’t sure anything was ever going to beat HD Blu-ray on a screen this size, not even an actual theater. At a theater he wouldn’t be eating Chipotle on a couch next to Blaine with their shoulders only a few inches apart. Sam feared he might be ruined for movies forever.

He was also starting to fear that something might be up with Blaine, because Blaine hadn’t actually put his phone away since showing Sam the picture of Cooper, and he kept catching Blaine surreptitiously checking it out of the corner of his eye and seeming progressively more agitated. The SHIELD helicarrier had barely lifted off when Sam caught him for what seemed like the thousandth time and couldn’t stop himself from saying something. “Dude, is everything okay? You’re checking your phone like you’re expecting to hear someone died. Please tell me Cooper isn’t getting attacked by a raccoon because I literally think he might let himself be clawed to death if he thought his tweets about it stood a chance of getting turned into a movie.”

Blaine sighed, letting his head hit the back of the couch with a dull thunk as he reached blindly for the remote and paused the movie. “It’s not Cooper. It’s Kurt.”

“Oh.” Sam wasn’t totally sure what to say. “So... you guys are talking? Or...” He let the sentence hang unfinished because he honestly had no idea what he would have said next.

“No, we’re not talking. Well, actually, I’m talking. I’ve talked a lot. He just won’t answer. I keep expecting him to respond and he just... doesn’t.” Sam was a little surprised by the bitterness in Blaine’s voice as he unexpectedly hurled himself off the couch and started kind of... pacing between the table and the TV. Sam was at a loss for what to do with the sudden change in mood, so he sat and let Blaine talk.

“I mean, I get that I fucked up, I do. But I have done _everything _,__ every single thing I could think of to do and I don’t even know if it got to him because he won’t say anything to me. Not even a ‘we’re done’ or ‘I need time’ or ‘please stop talking to me.’ I have literally no idea what he’s thinking or if we’re even still together and it is making me insane because I would do anything right now to just know what to do to make it right, but I can’t, because he won’t tell me!”

Blaine spun on on heel and ended up facing the TV with his hands on his head. He wasn’t saying anything so Sam assumed it was his turn to talk. “Blaine, I-” was all he managed to get out before Blaine was turning around to face him.

“It’s exactly like you said, you know? I just give and give and give and he takes, whether or not he asked for it, and I keep giving anyway because I don’t need to want anything else if I have him. But what happens when I keep giving and he’s gone? What happens when I don’t have him? I’m left with nothing and it’s excruciating and it’s totally unfair. Right?”

Sam had frozen in his seat before Blaine had even finished asking the first question. The only time they’d ever discussed it in depth was the one time Blaine allegedly couldn’t remember. It had come up in the weeks since then, of course, but Sam had kept his mouth shut aside from reassurances that everything would be okay. Blaine wasn’t supposed to remember what he’d said.

But apparently Blaine didn’t remember that he wasn’t supposed to remember, because he was looking at Sam expectantly. “Right?” he asked again, clearly looking for an answer.

Proceeding with caution, Sam tried to figure out what he could say that wouldn’t wreck everything. But Blaine was still looking at him and Sam could see no way of getting out of the situation gracefully. “Like I said...” he spoke slowly, almost afraid of what was about to come out of his mouth, “when you were drunk? Like, so drunk you didn’t remember the conversation the next day? Because if you remember that conversation I think I need to know what else you remember.”

Blaine’s eyes went wide, like he’d only just realized exactly what he’d said, and he stuttered over a few abandoned syllables before he could form real words. “Shit,” was the first thing he managed, which was not particularly reassuring to Sam. It must have shown on his face, because Blaine was apologizing right away. “No, Sam, god, I’m so sorry. I am the worst drunk person ever and I tend to just attach myself to the closest available person. By the face.”

The apology wasn’t helping Sam understand anything any better. “Yeah dude, I know. I saw you make out with Rachel which I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t do sober. Did you think I’d be pissed or something?”

Blaine sighed. “I guess... I guess I just figured that if I pretended it didn’t happen, you could too. I wanted to spare you the awkwardness of having to deal with it.”

Sam knew what he should say, which was a lie, and he knew what he wanted to say, which was a little terrifying. It took him a minute to figure out which would suck less and in the silence Blaine kind of... deflated, which made Sam’s decision for him. If he could take a chance like pseudo-proposing to Quinn before they were really even dating, he could man up and say this.

“Maybe I wanted to deal with it.”

Blaine’s shoulders dropped and his eyes softened. “Sam...”

“I’m just saying there are worse things you could have done while wasted. I didn’t really mind.” Sam shifted a little uncomfortably on the couch. The look Blaine was giving him could either be pity or affection, he’d always had a hard time seeing the difference and he didn’t like thinking about what either one could mean.

“Thanks Sam, but you really don’t have to say that. I was totally the creepy drunk handsy guy and I’m mostly just really surprised you’re not super pissed,” Blaine rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, almost like he was embarrassed.

Oh. He was embarrassed. That look hadn’t been pity or affection, it was gratitude. Blaine thought Sam was giving him a way out, which meant for all Sam had manned up, the risk he’d taken hadn’t gotten him anywhere. But, if he’d come this far...

“No, dude, you don’t get it. I _really_ didn’t mind.” Sam gave Blaine a pointed look to emphasize his point and guarantee that he wouldn’t be misunderstood. Blaine’s eyes went wide and Sam looked away, not wanting to see what came next.

He heard an “oh, _Sam_ ” from somewhere in front of him and braced himself for the worst, but nothing could have prepared him for what came next. Blaine was surprisingly quick, Sam didn’t even fully realize he was moving until he’d already moved. Somewhere along the way Blaine must have turned his uncanny ability to throw himself at furniture and stick the landing into something with lethal precision, because before Sam could totally process what was happening, Blaine was more or less in his lap.

He felt a hand on his jaw turn his head so he was looking up at Blaine, who was actually straddling him, oh god, and he saw Blaine’s eyes get really intense in the split second before Blaine’s mouth was on his.

It wasn’t the desperate, needy kissing they’d done in Blaine’s bed on Halloween. It was a little frantic, sure, especially once Sam’s brain kicked into gear enough for him to start kissing back, but it was so much better because they were both all there, actively choosing to do it because they wanted to, not because they were inebriated and lonely. It was awesome.

Sam sent out a silent word of thanks to the stripper he’d worked with who’d taught him the body roll, because when Blaine pressed his shoulders into the back of the couch and rocked his hips down, Sam had absolutely zero difficulty arching back up underneath him. One of Blaine’s hands had strayed from his shoulder to make its way under his shirt, and wow, it was starting to look like Blaine was going to want to go a little further. And if Sam was feeling what he thought he was feeling pressed against his hip, “a little further” was potentially a little more than Sam had expected. Not that he minded, Blaine had started kissing down his jaw and the guy really knew what he was doing- but wait. Blaine did know what he was doing, he’d done it before, not just with Kurt but with the guy he’d cheated on Kurt with. Sam didn’t really want to end up being guy number two, so he pushed Blaine back a little with the hands that had somehow ended up on Blaine’s hips.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Sam said, leaning back to get a little distance. He took a deep breath, trying to reconcile the part of his brain that was screaming at him for stopping with the part that was applauding his maturity and foresight.

Blaine just looked concerned, and started apologizing before Sam could even get himself together. “Oh, shit, I’m doing it again,” he said, “I’m so sorry Sam, I thought- do you want to stop? Are you okay?”

It was a little ridiculous how much Sam did not want to stop, but he had to clear something up first. “No, Blaine, I’m totally okay, it’s fine. Just... isn’t this pretty much what got you into trouble in the first place? I might be totally into it but I don’t want to be the guy who killed a relationship.”

Blaine seemed to actually consider the question for a minute before he said, “Actually... no. It’s not the same, not really. What got me into trouble was doing this when I knew Kurt and I were together. I knew it was wrong even though it didn’t mean anything because I absolutely knew what Kurt and I were to each other. He hasn’t spoken to me in almost two months, Sam. I don’t know anything anymore. I mean this, though. I think it counts for at least something, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, and it almost sounded more like a laugh than a word. Blaine smiled and then they were kissing again, Blaine’s hands running up Sam’s stomach and pushing up his shirt until Sam decided to just take it off. Sam was so turned on he couldn’t think, and Blaine kissing his throat like that really wasn’t helping matters any.

When Blaine shifted back a little and his hand dragged down Sam’s stomach, pausing over the button on his jeans, Sam’s brain short-circuited a little. Blaine looked a little uncertain when he asked, “Can I- is this okay?” but Sam’s enthusiastic nod must have reassured him enough to proceed.

It was awkward at first, Sam couldn’t really get his pants out of the way with Blaine still practically sitting on him and Blaine’s grip had started out way too firm, but when they finally got it right, they got it really right. Blaine was everywhere, covering Sam’s mouth with his own and jerking him off with a skilled hand. For as much as Sam had wanted this, he actually hadn’t had more than a vague idea of how it would play out. His experience with women was actually pretty limited and his experience with guys was nonexistent. Whatever he’d expected, there was no way it could have compared to what he was getting. Blaine had buried his face against Sam’s neck, breathing a little heavily as his hips jerked into nothing. He kept speeding up the pace of his hand, almost as if watching Sam get off was turning him on.

The realization that that was exactly what was happening, that Blaine was getting off on watching Sam get off, was enough to push him over the edge. Sam came with a stuttered “B-Blaine,” arching practically off the couch as every muscle in his body strained to get more.

Not long after he’d gotten back to the point of at least remembering his own name, Blaine moved urgently against him and Sam realized that, shit, he hadn’t done anything for Blaine. Unsure of what he needed, Sam tried to ask, “What do I- “ but hesitated, completely out of his element. Fortunately Blaine got the message, pulling his own jeans open and grabbing Sam’s wrist to guide his hand between denim and cotton briefs. He rested his forehead on Sam’s shoulder, groaning as he ground into Sam’s hand a few times before finally coming with a gasp, whining when Sam pulled away a little too soon.

They stayed like that, breathing heavily against each other, for a few minutes before Blaine lifted himself off Sam and collapsed on the couch next to him. “Oh wow,” he said, seeming almost astonished, and Sam couldn’t help but laugh at the completely stupid look on his face.

“Dude, you look like you did that one time Puck found out about the Westboro people being in Columbus and offered to beat them up for you.” When Blaine looked like he wasn’t getting it, Sam clarified after he pulled his pants back on. “It’s like you think it’s nice and a little ridiculous, but you’re mostly just really surprised.”

Blaine laughed, turning his head to look at Sam. “I am surprised, that was surprising. It was a nice surprise though, much nicer than any of Puck’s.” He grinned at Sam, “Wanna finish the movie? That was a nice intermission and all but I’m not about to bail before Bruce shows up on that motorcycle.”

Sam was about to make some remark about how of course Blaine loves the moment when the scrappy underdog hero rides in to save the day, but he was interrupted by Blaine’s phone suddenly and loudly buzzing from the table in front of them.

“I swear to god, if that’s Cooper,” Blaine said, reaching for the phone. “I warned him about those pigeons...” His sentence trailed off as he looked at the caller ID, at Sam, and then back at the phone. Sam shot him a questioning look but Blaine held up a finger as if to pause him and brought the phone up to his ear. “Kurt, hey.”

Sam felt his stomach drop and he squeezed his eyes shut because of course this was the kind of shit that happened to him. Even worse, Blaine kept saying things like, “of course, yeah, anything you want,” which made Sam really nervous. It was one thing to listen to Blaine talk about how much he was always conceding, but actually watching him do it was painful. As Blaine continued to agree with whatever Kurt was saying, Sam found his shirt and pulled it back on. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be finishing the movie.

When Blaine finally hung up, he looked a kind of stunned that Sam usually associated with the lottery winners from all those commercials that aired during the local news. He half expected a man with a microphone to burst into the room with a bunch of balloons and a giant novelty check that said, “Congratulations! You’ve won your boyfriend back!”

What he got instead was Blaine saying, “He wants to talk,” before flying into motion. He stood up, talking to himself and to Sam at the same time. “Oh god, I don’t even know what he wants to talk about. I need to change, I need to go- you don’t mind, right? It’s just... this might be the only time he’s willing to see me and I need to know what’s going on. Sam, I-” he was probably going to finish the sentence with some kind of apology, but Sam cut him off.

“No, it’s fine,” he lied. “I’ll probably just... head home or something. I should call Quinn, I heard she’s back but I haven’t seen her yet.” Sam didn’t want to call Quinn, and he didn’t want to leave, but Blaine was already gathering up their plates and carrying everything to the kitchen. By the time Sam said goodbye, Blaine was rounding the corner to the stairs, probably trying to figure out what to wear.

Sam sat behind the wheel of his car for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do. He didn’t want to go home, but he wasn’t sure of where else he could go. Finally it occurred to him that there was one very good, though generally very sarcastic option, and he grabbed his phone and pressed three on his speed dial.

After a few rings he heard a familiar voice pick up. ”Trouty! I thought you’d had enough of me after Wednesday. What, did you lose a parade float in your giant, cavernous mouth? Because if you did you can deal with it yourself, I left my spelunking gear in Kentucky.”

“Hey Santana,” Sam said, affection outweighing annoyance. “What are you doing like, right now?”

“In this exact second? I’m talking to you,” Sam rolled his eyes but Santana kept talking. “If you mean tonight in general, though, I’m watching awful lesbian romcoms on Logo and doing my nails. Why?”

“Do you maybe want some company?”

\---

Sam arrived at Santana’s house just in time to catch the end of D.E.B.S. and the beginning of “But I’m A Cheerleader,” not really understanding why Santana was watching it if the opening cheer routine made her so angry. (“For god’s sake, it’s the nineties, not 1972. There is NO EXCUSE for shoddy choreography like that. And the UNIFORMS, dear god it’s like they WANT to lose every competition they manage to enter.” Sam had nodded in agreement partly because he knew better than to start talking cheerleading with Santana, but mostly because she was gesturing pretty wildly with a nail file that he really didn’t want to get hit with.)

By the end of the movie, though, Santana’s nails had dried and she was leaning against Sam’s side with her head on his shoulder. As Megan walked on screen in her cheer uniform, Sam thought maybe he understood after all why Santana was still intently watching even though the entire movie was glaringly bright and over the top, even for him. He heard some sniffling by the time the “one-two-three-four, you’re the one that I adore” line came up, but he knew better than to say anything. She’d probably just hit him. When the credits rolled, Santana shut off the TV and tried to wipe her eyes in a way that Sam wouldn’t see. He pretended he didn’t.

”Alright blondie, what is this about? As much as I love girls nights, you look like one of those giant catfish that got pulled out of its mud hole so some Discovery bitch could stick a camera in its face, and I know you’re not here for the excellent cinema.” Leave it to Santana to get right to the point.

“It’s a lesbian romcom, Santana,” Sam joked, “that’s a guarantee of chicks making out at least once per hour.” Naturally the remark earned him a throw pillow to the head, but one bitchface glare was all it took for Sam to get serious. “I don’t know. It might be nothing but it might be something big, too. I don’t think I can talk about it yet, there’s just too much I don’t know for sure.”

Santana opted to not make a dumb jock joke, which Sam was secretly thankful for, but she did give him a stern look and say, “Whatever, just don’t bitch about me saying I told you so in two weeks when you end up calling me and telling me anyway.”

\---

It was a little late when Sam got home, which meant Burt and Carole would probably be asleep, or at least settled in for the night. He remembered Finn saying he was going out with Puck, which probably meant they were doing something vaguely illegal, leaving only Kurt for Sam to possibly run into. When he walked in the door, though, Kurt’s keys weren’t on the hook. It was either a really good or a really bad sign, and Sam honestly wasn’t sure which one he’d prefer.

Deciding he was hungry, Sam wandered into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich with whatever was left of last night’s dinner. He didn’t quite want to sleep yet, and crafting a monster sandwich was a skill Finn had taught him well.

He’d just sat down to admire his masterpiece and laugh at how a sophomore version of himself would have been horrified by the amount of carbs in the bread alone when he heard a key in the front door’s lock, and braced himself for a potential shitshow.

What he got instead was the sound of a bag being thrown down in the hall followed by the sound of heavy boots on the stairs followed by the sound of a door slamming just a little too loud to be accidental. Sam put his sandwich down with a heavy sigh, checking the clock. He figured he had about thirty minutes before the call came, which was so not enough time to enjoy the sandwich completely, but Sam knew he’d make that sacrifice anyway because he was a good guy.

\---

Approximately twenty-eight minutes later, he had Blaine on the phone and was more or less trying to talk him off a cliff.

“He just said he wanted to know all the details, Sam. He wouldn’t say anything about staying together or what we were going to do... He said he needed to know so he could figure out how to forgive me but when I told him he started talking about how maybe he can forgive me but he doesn’t think he can trust me and so how are we supposed to have a relationship and now I don’t know what to do.” Blaine sounded more agitated than Sam had ever known him to be, and he resisted the urge to swear under his breath when Blaine said he’d given Kurt all the details.

“Did you tell him about... does he know?” Sam couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he knew Blaine would know what he was talking about. In retrospect they should have established a stance on who would know what, just so Sam could prepare, but hindsight was always 20/20.

“No,” Blaine said miserably. “I should have said something but he was already talking about dealbreakers and not knowing if he could get over it enough to ever be with me again. If I’d told him about you he would have wanted all the details of that too, and I didn’t want to drag you into my mess, especially since you live with him.”

Sam appreciated the thought and said as much, following with, “You should get some sleep, man. You can hang out with me and Mike tomorrow if you want but right now I think you just need to chill. Okay? But we’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah,” Blaine let out a shaky breath and Sam could hear it through the phone. “Speaking of we, well... us.” Sam sighed, already knowing what was coming. “Maybe we should hold off on that for now? I obviously need to get my act together and I don’t want you getting caught up in drama you don’t need to be a part of.”

“Of course,” said Sam. “You got it, man.”

\---

Sam managed to hold out eight whole days before cracking and calling Santana. He told her everything, expecting at least one snide comment meant more to make him laugh than to piss him off, but not really getting any. When she said, “I told you so,” she mostly just sounded as sad as Sam felt.


End file.
